by Paula Munier
“That’s odd,” said Lillian.
“She was supposed to stay here where Becker and Goodlove could keep an eye on her. Not to mention the blizzard out there,” said Mercy. “Where did they go?”
“The officers were here,” said Lillian. “They weren’t happy when Patience said she was leaving.”
“Patience told them they’d have to shoot her to keep her here,” said Ethan.
“Of course she did.” Mercy sighed. “So as far as you know they’re at my cabin and Becker and Goodlove are with them.”
“Correct,” he said.
“I’m sure Patience won’t do anything foolish,” said Lillian.
“Well, that’s one of us,” said Mercy as she texted Amy to see if her grandmother was at the cabin. Maybe Patience and Claude had left their phones in the car.
“Do you know why she wanted to talk to me?”
“She said she remembered something that might be important,” said Lillian.
“Did she say what it was?”
Lillian shook her head.
“Ethan?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
Amy pinged back that Patience was not at the cabin.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Is there anything we can do?” he asked.
She swiveled around again. “Stay here and if she comes back, keep her here. And let me know right away.”
“Sure.” Ethan walked her to the door. “Be careful.”
Henry ran up to her, flapping his arms. He did that when he got excited or worried or scared.
“What’s wrong?” Henry wasn’t good at communicating but he was a genius who didn’t miss much and often noticed what other people missed completely.
Elvis and Robin surrounded the boy, nudging his arms until he stopped stimming and started hugging them. He looked up at Mercy and said, “Ranger.”
She smiled. If Henry liked you, he would call you by the character in his customized Dungeons & Dragons game that you most resembled. She was Paladin and Troy was Ranger. He was trying to tell her in his way that she should contact Troy to help them find Patience. “Don’t worry, Henry. Contacting Troy is my very next move.”
He nodded solemnly. She kissed his forehead, and he let her.
In the Jeep she texted Troy to tell him that Patience and Claude were missing and to ask him where the hell Becker and Goodlove were.
“We’re not waiting for an answer,” she told Elvis. “Hold on.”
And she drove much too fast through the swirl of snow over the slick roads all the way home.
* * *
TROY WAS GLAD to be back at the fire tower he called home. He was grateful that he could still call it home, since his soon-to-be-ex-wife Madeline had insisted that she was its rightful owner. Thank God for that condo in Boca.
He fed and watered Susie Bear. Belly full, the contented dog collapsed onto the couch for a nap while he stripped off his uniform, showered, and slipped into a long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. It had been a long day, and he wanted nothing more than a ham sandwich and a Heady Topper and the hope that Mercy Carr was beginning to trust him again. The ham sandwich and the beer were the easy part, he thought, as he made the sandwich, poured the beer, and sat down on the other end of the sectional sofa to have his supper. The Mercy Carr part, not so much.
He’d left his phone downstairs, and so he went down to get it. He always plugged it in to charge upstairs in his sleeping quarters, since he was on call so much and needed to be available twenty-four/seven. That’s when he saw the text from Mercy.
He texted back right away to tell her that he’d find out what he could and meet her at the cabin. He called Captain Thrasher, telling him about Patience and Claude gone missing and asking him where Officer Goodlove and Officer Becker had gone.
“I’m on my way to Mercy’s,” he told Thrasher.
“Let me track down Becker and Goodlove. I’ll meet you there.”
“This is not good.”
“No,” agreed the captain, and rang off.
Troy put on a fresh uniform and roused Susie Bear.
“Come on, girl.”
She raised her big pumpkin head wearily as if to say, “Really?”
“We’re going to see Mercy and Elvis.”
That did it. The big dog lumbered to her feet with her signature elephantine grace. She wagged her long feathery tail.
“We’ve got to help find Patience.” Troy grabbed his coat and his pack.
Susie Bear wagged her tail harder. There was no one she liked better than Patience, except maybe Troy, and nothing she liked better than finding people. For her, searching for Patience would be like the best game ever. The Newfie actually pranced out to the truck.
Troy hoped that Susie Bear’s good vibes were prophetic. Because he had a very bad feeling about this.
* * *
BY THE TIME Troy and Susie Bear got to Mercy’s cabin, the captain was already there, waiting on the porch for them before knocking on the door. This would allow the three of them—Troy, his dog, and his boss—to put up what the captain always called a united front, the better to comfort the family. The fact that Thrasher believed this situation called for a united front was the worst sort of red flag.
Mercy opened the door even before he and Susie Bear had gotten out of the truck. No surprise there, Elvis and Sunny alerted to all visitors long before they could ring the doorbell. But the captain did not enter the cabin. Instead, Mercy joined Thrasher on the porch, waiting for him and his dog. Now he wouldn’t have time to ask the captain why they needed a united front to talk to her before they went inside.
The captain nodded at him and he huffed through deepening snow past the garden and up to the front door, the Newfie on his heels.
“Thanks for coming.” She let them all in, and Elvis and Sunny greeted them enthusiastically, then ran off with Susie Bear into the living room. They followed them, Mercy leading the way. Troy couldn’t tell from the captain’s poker face what he was about to say, but he figured it wasn’t good.
“Have a seat.” Mercy waved them onto the larger of the two leather couches in front of the flagstone fireplace, where her grandfather’s hand-carved longbow hung in pride of place over the mantel.
Amy and Brodie were splayed out on the smaller one, and baby Helena was asleep in her play yard on the other side of the room. The kitten, Muse, was curled up in Amy’s lap.
Troy loved this room. With its soaring ceiling and library wall of books and comfortable furniture, it was as pretty and smart and real as Mercy herself.
He sat down next to Thrasher, who’d settled himself in the exact center of the large sofa, legs apart, spine erect, dominating the space with his body language alone. Mercy sat cross-legged on the floor, Elvis and Susie Bear and Sunny surrounding her. The Buddha of Dogs, he thought.
But her expression was not serene. “What can you tell us?” She directed the question to the captain.
“We’re working on it,” said Thrasher, his voice rich with confidence. “We’ve got All Points Bulletins out on all of them.”
“So you have, like, no idea where they are?” asked Amy.
“I don’t get it,” said Brodie. “I mean, Becker and Goodlove are cops.”
Troy wondered how the captain would react to being challenged by teenagers. That couldn’t happen very often.
“I understand your frustration. It’s a very unusual situation.” The captain rested his palms on his knees. “According to Harrington, Goodlove and Becker last checked in three hours ago. No one’s heard from them since, but then they weren’t due to check in again for a couple of hours. We’ve got everybody out looking for them. And Patience and Claude.”
Troy knew that losing track of law enforcement officers was simply unacceptable. Sure, as a game warden he was often off the grid out in the wilderness, but this was different. These were local cops, in a police car, within the town limits. Losing track just didn’t happen, unless something had gone ver
y wrong.
“No sign of the vehicle?” asked Mercy.
“Not yet.”
Troy could tell Mercy was worried by the way her cheeks reddened. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”
“I do have some news,” said Thrasher.
Mercy looked at him, her face bright with hope. It broke Troy’s heart. “What?”
“Dr. Darling has been busy examining the remains and the other evidence. She took a look at that wedding ring, and we have a date.”
“There was an inscription,” she said.
“Yes.” The captain smiled. “A wedding date engraved on the inner shank of the ring. June 13, 1999.”
Mercy frowned. “That’s right around the time that Beth and Thomas Kilgore could’ve gotten married. I’ve got a photo of their wedding somewhere.” She went over to the farm table that separated the great room from the kitchen, where the forensics team had dumped the boxes. They’d come and gone while she and Troy were out, finding nothing, just as Mercy had predicted.
She pulled a cardboard box from one of the dining chairs. She deposited it next to the coffee table, and sank to the floor again, dragging all the files out and going through the photos while Troy and the rest of them watched.
“Here it is.” She placed the faded picture on the table for them all to see. Two young people, a petite dark-haired girl looking sweet and virginal in an old-fashioned white lace dress. And a hulking guy with a scruffy beard and a dark look. He dwarfed his new wife.
Mercy snapped the photo over onto its other side. She pointed to the date on the back, written in a small, controlled hand. Wedding Day: June 13, 1999.
“It’s the same date,” said Amy.
“Random,” said Brodie.
“I don’t think so. What are the odds?”
“So our victim could be Thomas Kilgore.” Troy looked at Mercy. “Not Beth Kilgore.”
“We’ll check to see if we have any fingerprints or DNA from Thomas Kilgore on file.”
“You should. I know he’s been arrested several times,” said Mercy. “At least one time for assault. He broke his wife’s nose.”
“What a creep,” said Brodie.
“We’ll run his records,” said Thrasher. “Dr. Darling says the body could have been in that barrel for twenty years, so it could conceivably be Thomas Kilgore. The timing fits—or at least it doesn’t not fit.”
“If it is Thomas Kilgore,” said Troy, “then his wife could have killed him.”
“That’s a big if,” said Mercy.
“Yes. A big if.” Amy crossed her hands across her chest. The movement disturbed the kitty, and she leapt from her lap to Brodie’s lap.
Troy smiled. It was sweet how Amy always aligned herself with Mercy. “Either way, we need to find Beth Kilgore.”
“I can’t believe that she would murder anyone,” said Mercy.
“A battered wife gone too far,” said the captain. “Pushed too hard, one too many times. Snaps. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“What about Ruby Rucker? The crime scene was on a property that Ruby had listed. Maybe she killed him.”
“No motive.”
“That we know of.”
“That we know of,” conceded Troy. “Although Beth and Ruby were friends. Maybe that’s how Beth knew about the place. Ruby may have taken her there.”
“You’re losing me,” said Brodie.
“Who’s Ruby Rucker?” asked Amy.
Mercy filled the others in on their trip to Peace Junction, where they’d met Louise Minnette at the library, and learned that Ruby Rucker and Beth Kilgore were friends and that Louise had seen them together at the theater. She told the story well, so well that Troy had nothing to add.
“So you’re saying that both women disappeared that same summer,” said Thrasher.
“Yes.”
“What time period?”
“No one’s really sure,” said Mercy. “George reported Ruby missing right away. But no one knew exactly when Beth and Thomas Kilgore disappeared. They lived up there in Marvin, by the old asbestos mine.”
“I didn’t know that anyone still lived up there,” said Thrasher.
“No one should.”
“It’s pretty isolated up there.”
“Exactly. That’s why nobody noticed they were missing. It wasn’t until Beth’s father, Clem Verdette, came back from his annual summer fishing trip to Canada that they were reported missing.”
“More like a poaching trip,” said Thrasher.
“Yeah,” agreed Troy.
“Thomas Kilgore’s family just assumed that he and Beth had moved to California,” said Mercy. “They were about to get thrown out of their trailer, and Kilgore had been hitting up everyone he knew for money. The family figured that they just took off.”
“So we have this window,” said Thrasher, “in which Ruby and Thomas and Beth Kilgore disappeared.”
“But Thomas Kilgore didn’t disappear, he got murdered,” said Amy.
“Epic,” said Brodie.
“Ruby could have told Beth and Thomas about the lodge,” said Troy. “Maybe they went to stay there, since they were getting thrown out of their trailer.”
“It’s possible,” said Mercy.
But Troy could tell she didn’t believe that scenario.
“Kilgore loses his temper,” said Thrasher. “One thing leads to another, he ends up dead. Beth flees.”
“I just can’t see Beth as a murderer,” said Mercy.
“Granted, what we’ve got here is mostly speculation,” said Thrasher. “We’ll see what other evidence we come across.”
“What about the barrel?”
“There doesn’t seem to be much more salvageable evidence at this point. No murder weapon except for the bullet and no gun. But we’ll keep looking. I know they’ll search the property again once the storm has passed, but there’s a good chance we won’t find the gun. That weapon could be long gone.”
“At the bottom of a lake or a ravine somewhere,” said Brodie, as if he disposed of murder weapons on a regular basis. The kid was such a goof, thought Troy. He knew Brodie drove Mercy crazy, but he got a real kick out of him.
“According to Mary Lou Rucker-Smith, George Rucker hired a private eye. Maybe if we can find Ruby, we can find Beth,” said Mercy.
“Assuming, of course, that Dr. Darling can confirm what all this circumstantial evidence is telling us: that the victim is actually Thomas Kilgore.” The captain always erred on the side of facts, rather than speculation. Troy admired that, but he had also come to value Mercy’s gift for the educated guess.
“As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t think there’s much doubt that our victim is Kilgore,” said Mercy. “Those dates are pretty conclusive, and all three of them went missing around the same time. It’s just too much of a coincidence.”
“It’s all connected somehow,” said Amy, warming to the idea now that Mercy had acknowledged it. “The question is, how.”
“But you got no clue where Ruby Rucker or Beth Kilgore went.” Brodie looked at them all as if they were mad to think they’d ever solve this case. “Am I right?”
“The answer’s got to be in those files,” said Mercy, “and I’m going to figure it out. But I have to find my grandmother first.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Mercy just couldn’t sit around and wait for local law enforcement to find Patience and Claude. She was going to have to do that herself. She just had to figure out where they were.
“We’re on it,” the captain assured Mercy as he pulled his ringing phone from his pocket. “The best thing you can do is stay here and go through those files.”
Thrasher was half right, she thought.
He looked down at his cell. “It’s Harrington. I’d better take it.” He rose to his feet and strode toward the front door. Troy went with him, and Susie Bear shuffled to her feet and shambled after him.
Mercy watched them go, only to see Troy and Susie Bear return, escorting her
parents into the growing gathering in the great room. This was the last thing she needed. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean, what am I doing here?” Her mother charged forward, a cat in Chanel on the attack.
Her father stepped between them. “We came to see about your grandmother.”
“My mother is missing,” said Grace in a tightly controlled voice, “and whether you like it or not, this is my family, and you are my daughter, and I have as much right to be here as you do. Maybe more.”
Mercy bit back the uncharitable fact that this was actually her home, so her mother really didn’t have as much right to be there as she did.
Her father knew what his daughter was thinking—he always seemed to know what she was thinking—and gave her one of his “give your mother a break” looks. He placed his arms around Grace’s shoulders protectively. “We just want to know what’s going on.”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” said Mercy, sounding lame even to herself.
“You’ve been worrying me since you learned to walk,” said Grace.
Brodie laughed, and her mother glared at him.
He held up his hands. “What?”
“I’m going to make us all some chili,” said Amy, changing the subject.
“I’ll help you,” said Brodie, with a look that said he was happy to escape to the kitchen with Amy.
“How can you think of food at a time like this?” Grace looked from Amy and Brodie to Mercy, and she knew what her mother was leaving unasked: You live with these people?
“It’s what Patience would do,” explained Amy.
A small sob escaped from Grace. She folded in on herself, her former bravado forgotten. Her father helped her onto the sofa.
“That sounds great, Amy,” said Mercy. “Thank you very much.”
“Sure.” Amy headed for the kitchen, Brodie on her heels.
“So what do we know?” asked her father.
This was the question he always asked when he was thinking through a case. When Mercy was a little girl and wanted to be just like him, he would humor her by talking about his cases, and sharing his thought process, in the hope that she’d take an interest in the law. While she didn’t grow up to be an attorney, she did credit those early conversations with sharpening her critical thinking skills.